Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365791" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Metzengerstein</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think that I was only nine<br>When first I met Metzengerstein, <br>Too young to know his foul intent, <br>Too young, too pure, too innocent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He lived in some old ruined church<br>With gothic columns, vaulted arch, <br>That sheltered him from thundered skies, <br>And hid, in gloom, his enterprise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For from that church were mutterings<br>On windy nights, such utterings<br>As screams, while weird unholy moans<br>Disturbed the graveyard's scattered bones.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He wore a cape that wrapped him in<br>A hat, broad-brimmed, and black as sin, <br>His gaiters to the knee were brown<br>The boots he wore, they made no sound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At night I'd see his shadow pass<br>Dark stained, upon my window glass<br>As stealthily he roamed abroad<br>While mist and fog obscured the road.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He came from some small German town, <br>My kindly father asked him round: <br>'We must be kind, and make no fuss, <br>But treat him just as one of us.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Metzengerstein then came to call<br>And sat and stared - stared at us all, <br>My mother brought us cake and tea<br>And laughed, and smiled most happily.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She was so sweet, so fair of face<br>My father said: 'She lends us grace.'<br>She was much younger, then, than he, <br>He'd brought her from the old country.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But while she played the welcome host<br>Metzengerstein watched her the most, <br>His eyes burned fierce beneath thick brows<br>As once he'd spied on German fraus.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He came again, again and he<br>Ignored my father, ignored me, <br>But watched my mother's every move; <br>She danced, to see if he'd approve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My father sat bemused and still, <br>And worried too, for I could tell; <br>His wife would seem to be bewitched, <br>Metzengerstein had scratched her itch.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So soon that sweet and dainty dame<br>Had added rumour to her name, <br>She raised her skirts above the knee, <br>Wore tops as low as low could be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While in our parlour, came the sounds<br>Of dancing music, all year round, <br>Metzengerstein sat in his chair<br>While she would dance, and taunt, and stare…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Right back at him, full in the eyes<br>As if he had her hypnotized; <br>'I wish I'd never asked him here, '<br>My father muttered, in despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then one day when I was but ten<br>My mother, with Metzengerstein<br>Went out, and said: 'We're going to search, <br>The bowels of that ruined church.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He'd told her there was music there<br>Would charm the roots of her fair hair, <br>Would spin her giddy in the dark<br>Would faery-like, ignite her spark.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I waited 'til my father came<br>And told him I was not to blame: <br>'But mother's gone, some stairs to climb, <br>She's gone with that Metzengerstein! ' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We waited, and we waited on, <br>But of the two there was no sign, <br>At length we sought the church in pain<br>But all was echoes in the rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For days and weeks, and then for years<br>I watched my father burst in tears<br>Whenever tunes, they did remind him<br>Of his wife… Metzengerstein! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And lonely then became his life, <br>He mourned his only love, his wife, <br>But she had disappeared, as if<br>Her dainty frame did not exist.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This year, as autumn winds were due<br>I found that I was fifty-two, <br>When down the road I saw a sign -<br>My mother, and Metzengerstein! .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She danced on in, and said: 'We're back! <br>We found no music in the rack.'<br>I looked and stared like one deranged -<br>For neither of the two had aged! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My father, crippled in his chair<br>Cried out: 'Oh God! Is that my dear? '<br>And she shrank back to see him now, <br>This pale old man, his feeble brow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I have been but an hour or so; <br>What's wrong? Where did my husband go? '<br>I looked at her through childhood tears: <br>'You have been gone for forty years! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She swooned, fell swiftly to the floor<br>As I peered out the open door, <br>But of that cape there was no sign, <br>He'd gone for good - Metzengerstein! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">19 April 2008</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365791" data-title="Metzengerstein de David Lewis Paget" data-description="I think that I was only nine
When first I met Metzengerstein, 
Too young to know his foul intent, 
Too young, too pure, too innocent.

He lived in some old ruined church
With gothic columns, vaulted arch, 
That sheltered him from thundered skies, ..."></div>
</div>
</div>